


A Fragment from Kelewan

by phdfan



Series: Permutations of Sara Hawke/Fenris [3]
Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age II
Genre: AU: Kelewan, Alternate Universe - Fantasy, Alternate Universe - Fusion, Crossovers & Fandom Fusions, Gen, concept testing, fragment
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-09-10
Updated: 2013-09-10
Packaged: 2017-12-26 04:23:08
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,189
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/961510
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/phdfan/pseuds/phdfan
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sara Hawke is Ruling Lady of House Hawke in a world where marriage is just another way of making allegiances.  A fragmented crossover fic featuring Dragon Age characters in the world of Kelewan (Empire Trilogy) for Trope Bingo.</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Fragment from Kelewan

**_A Fragment from Kelewan_ **

Fenris stood at attention just inside the doorway of his mistress’s study.  The Ruling Lady of House Hawke was sitting at her desk, cross-legged on the floor, her quill scratching across the parchment rolled out before her.  A lock of her dark hair had fallen forward over her face.  She did not look up.

Fenris stood with his hand on the pommel of his sword, senses trained to the sound of the household around them.  The rice paper walls would not provide any protection from assassins; Fenris was all that would stop them from reaching his mistress.

The Lady of House Hawke put the quill down, her brow knotted in concentration as she read back over the letter.  Then she nodded to herself, and picked up the vial of sand next to her right hand and sprinkled it over the page to absorb the excess ink.  She looked up – straight into Fenris’s eyes.

“Fenris, could you please call Bodahn?”

As Fenris ducked outside the room to send a message to the steward, the mistress tipped the sand off the letter into a nearby tray and rolled the parchment.  Picking up a small cylinder of red wax, she heated it over the solitary candle and dripped it onto the parchment’s join.  Fenris stepped back inside as she slipped the Hawke signet ring from her finger and pressed it into the soft wax, leaving behind an imprint of the house’s animal namesake.

A small cough announced the arrival of the Hawke steward.  Lady Hawke looked up and gestured impatiently, and a short, bearded man stepped into the room.  She held out the letter,

“Bodahn, could you please make sure this gets to Anders in the Assembly?”

If the steward was perturbed by his mistress’s command, he did not show it.  The man stepped forward, bowed, and accepted the letter, murmuring, “Yes, mistress,” before turning away.

Lady Hawke stood and turned away from him, to the light of the afternoon sun, rolling her shoulders and tilting her neck.  Most of her day had been spent receiving petitions or bent over paperwork, and he could imagine the toll it had taken on her body.  She reached up to her head and pulled out the combs, releasing her hair from its elaborate sculpture.  It flowed down her back like a sensuous river, and Fenris – finding himself staring – blushed.

“Should I call Orana, mistress?” he asked.

“No,” she said, and glanced at him over her shoulder.  “Would you help me with my house robe?”

Fenris would never disobey a direct order.  He stepped forward until he was standing right behind her, and she lifted her arms out from her sides.  The ornate robe she wore was heavy, and needed careful handling.  His hands inexplicably shaking, he reached forward to unwrap the dark red sash that encircled her waist, wrapping the silk around his own wrist as he pulled it free.  With the sash removed, the robe hung open on her shoulders, and Fenris lifted his hands to slowly slide it from her body.  The warm, dark brown of her skin was slowly revealed as he slipped it from her shoulders, her arms, until she was standing – naked – in the warm afternoon light.  She must have heard his breath catch, for she chuckled – a low, throaty laugh – and said,

“My house robe?”

Turning away, he carefully placed the discarded robe on the wooden stand reserved for it, and crossed to her bed to pick up the shorter, lighter robe she wore on informal occasions.  She was waiting for him in the same place when he returned with it, and slid it up her offered arms until the Hawke crest was once again in position, emblazoned upon the cloth of her back.

“Thank you,” she said, turning back around, and tied the robe at the front.  She glanced down at the sash he still wore around his wrist, then looked up at him, eyes full of mischief.  Fenris stammered an apology and looked away.  “Keep it,” she said, a smile teasing the edges of her mouth, and settled herself back down upon the cushion in front of her desk.

“Now,” she said, “I believe Varric wanted to see me.  Could you please call him in?”

As he went to the door, she clapped her hands and a young woman stepped in from the antechamber.

“Mistress?” the handmaiden asked, bowing.

“Orana, please get myself and Varric a pot of tea.”

The young woman bowed, and returned the way she came.  Fenris stepped back into his position at the entrance to the room.  The mistress ignored him, looking back down at the papers that covered her desk.  She only looked up when the solid footfalls of her stocky spymaster paused outside her room.

“Come in, Varric,” she said and gestured at the seat opposite her.  “Please, have a seat.”

The spymaster lowered himself down onto the cushion surprisingly gracefully, and Orana re-entered with a steaming pot and two small cups.  Kneeling down beside her mistress, she laid them out on the desk.

“Thank you, Orana,” Lady Hawke said, “That will be all.”  Orana stood, bowed, and withdrew, leaving Varric, Fenris, and the mistress alone in the room.

Lady Hawke poured the tea for Varric with her own hands.

“I know what you wish to discuss,” said the mistress.

“With all due respect, my Lady, you’ve delayed your answer for too long.”

“I will be the judge of that,” said Lady Hawke, filling her own cup with the steaming brew.  She replaced the pot in the centre of the table.

“If you delay much longer, you risk offense.”

“I understand,” said the mistress.  And, for some reason, she glanced up at Fenris where he stood by the door then hurriedly picked up her cup and raised it to her lips.

“They are a good, strong family,” pressed Varric, “with a fine line.”

Lady Hawke’s lips twisted.  “I have heard… stories about the youngest.”  She blew a gentle current across the surface of her tea.

“And no doubt they are true,” said Varric.  “But it will not matter once he is married.”

“And they will accept my terms?” she asked.

Varric nodded.  “They offer Sebastian as husband-consort,” he said, “As well as ten of their best warriors.”

Lady Hawke nodded and sipped her tea.  “I will give you an answer tomorrow,” she said.  Her clipped tones communicated her dismissal, and the spymaster stood, his tea left untouched on the table, and bowed before withdrawing.  The mistress stared, unseeing, at her cup before looking up at Fenris.

“Would you join me?” she asked, gesturing towards the other cup and cushion.  “There is no sense in it going to waste.”

Fenris hesitated.  It was only when his mistress made an impatient gesture toward the cushion that he stepped forward, and smoothly sat down opposite her.

“My mistress is too kind,” he said, bowing forward as he accepted the offered cup.

Lady Hawke made a dismissive gesture with her free hand.  “Please,” she said, “call me Sara.”

“Sara,” Fenris said, testing out the feel of her name in his mouth.


End file.
